


Writer's Block

by staringatstars



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Friend, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 10:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18892735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: When Roman ends up getting locked up in his room thanks to some serious writer's block, breakfast that morning is put on indefinite hold, and Virgil sticks around to keep him company. After all, it's one thing to spend some time alone after a stressful day, and another to not have a choice.





	Writer's Block

The ceiling was upside down. 

From a mind sluggish with fatigue, this was an indisputable fact. Virgil stared blankly at it, feeling a detached sense of curiosity as his groggy brain struggled to make connections. It took him a good couple minutes to realize he was sprawled across his mattress, his hair spilling over the foot of the bed and his feet propped up on his pillows. His shirt was hitched up to his collarbone. His mouth tasted like sour milk. 

It wasn’t the best start to the day, but he’d had worse. 

He shifted with a groan, feeling the tug in his abdominals as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Something slid out from under him, landing on the carpet below with a muted _thwip_. After blinking blearily at the rumpled pile of patterned hoodie on the ground, he reached down to pick it up and slip it on. 

The weight of it was comforting. Grounding. He was already beginning to feel more like himself and he hadn’t even had his first cup of coffee yet. 

Usually, he’d wait for Patton to announce breakfast was ready before heading down to the kitchen, or else make a point of waking up a little earlier so he could help with setting the table, but his internal clock was telling him he’d overslept this time around so he’d probably missed the prep portion of breakfast. Worst case scenario, Patton had Logan and Roman waiting for him to appear while their plates of steaming food got cold. 

With that scene playing out in his mind, Virgil vaulted off the bed, grimaced at the stiffness in his jeans, ran his fingers through his hair until it looked somewhat presentable, then strolled outside with his hands buried deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. 

He had something of a reputation to maintain, after all. 

What he didn’t expect was to find Patton and Logan gathered around Roman’s room, the former looking doleful with a tray full of freshly baked blueberry muffins in his arms, while Logan appeared mildly intrigued by whatever had attracted their attention and little else. Virgil sauntered quietly up behind them, peering over their shoulders, “What are we all looking at?” Patton jumped about a foot out of his skin, a new personal record. 

Logan, on the other hand, who had tried having fun once and didn’t much care for it, acknowledged his presence with a solemn nod. “Roman’s locked in his room again, I’m afraid.” His mouth twisted wryly. “It seems we may be forced to choose a topic for conversation ourselves this morning.” From within the confines of his room, Roman protested that he could hear every word, to which Logan unabashedly admitted he was aware. 

Virgil did his best to absorb that information, but found it difficult to wrap his head around, “That brings me to my next question - since when do our rooms have locks?” The only way into each other’s rooms was either with permission, or with Thomas’ help. After all, they were extensions of themselves, in a sense. A little more and a little less. 

Taking in his visible confusion, Logan’s expression softened. “It’s not quite the same as what you’re thinking.”

“Is that Storm Cloud I hear out there?” Roman called out. “Welcome to the party, Virgil.”

Patton shifted his hold on the tray of muffins with a small frown. “As much as we’d like to get him out of there, sometimes these things have to run their course.” Since he appeared to be struggling, Virgil offered to carry it for him, telling him it was no trouble until Patton at last relented and gratefully handed it over. 

“Or,” Roman began testily, “you could just convince Thomas to take a shower like I’ve been saying-”

Logan cut him off effortlessly, “Usually getting locked in like this means he’s been overworking himself again,” Roman muttered mutinously, though Logan acted like he hadn’t heard. “Blocking creativity is the brain’s way of forcing him to rest. Soon enough, it will be time to turn in for the night and... Boom!” The sudden shrill exclamation made Virgil jump. When he settled, he glowered sullenly at Logan’s shoes. “Inspiration will hit Thomas with the force of a steam locomotive.” Although no one appeared alarmed by the simile, Logan hastily elaborated, “Metaphorically, of course.” 

So, that was it, then. There was nothing they could do.

Even if this apparently happened often, Virgil didn’t think being forcibly cooped up in his room all day while others went about their daily routines could be pleasant. Plus, if it were him, something in his gut told him that he wouldn’t want to be left alone for too long. “I’ll stay with him.” Patton and Logan both turned to look at him, but he just gestured towards the door, not wanting to go into it. “Just for a while.”

Despite a rather brusque delivery, Patton appeared touched, his eyes welling with emotion, and Logan gave Virgil’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “We’ll see you both soon.” Virgil was so thrown by the show of approval from Logan of all people that forgot to hand the tray of pastries back to Patton, and by the time he remembered, they’d already retreated far enough down the hall that he would have had to shout to get their attention, which… 

Yeah. That wasn’t happening. 

After finding a comfortable spot to sit down on, Virgil lowered himself carefully onto the ground and rested his back against Roman’s door. He shifted the tray so that half of it rested on his knees in order to free up his hands. The muffins, freshly cooked, smelled delicious. 

“You hanging in there, Roman?” 

There was a rustling from inside. “Can’t you get me out of here with one of your spooky tricks?” 

“No can do. Logan says you need to rest.”

“How can I possibly rest when there’s so much to do? Thomas needs me to help him think of content for social media, original characters, song lyrics, pranks - the list goes on and on!” Virgil poked one of the muffins with the largest, juiciest blueberries, mentally claiming it for himself. “Perhaps you just want to keep me in here so you have all those muffins for yourself." 

Virgil let the last comment roll off with a shrug and a smirk. “It’s definitely a perk.” 

After that, conversation braked to a halt. There wasn’t much else to talk about. Roman wanted to get out of his room so badly he paced like an animal in captivity, like those lions and tigers in zoos and cages that pulled out their own fur when the stress of being contained overwhelmed them. He needed constant stimulus, colors and motions and sounds. 

Digging his hands into the carpet, Virgil asked, “What’s so wrong with taking a break, anyway?” The pacing came to a sudden stop. He tried not to let it get to him. “If I could take a break from,” with a broad gesture towards himself, he finished, quiet and subdued, “I’d probably jump on a chance like that.” 

Roman didn’t answer right away, not that Virgil had expected him to. He started getting nervous when the silence continued without interruption, though. It wasn’t like Roman not to share what he was thinking with the class, and the whole school besides. Just when Virgil was beginning to wonder if it would better if he got up and left, Roman spoke up, though what he ended up saying only confused him, “What do you see when you look outside?” Sure. Let’s talk about this… entirely new topic. “I look outside and all I see are possibilities. You see dangers, yet you go outside, anyway.” It took Virgil a minute to realize Roman was actually complimenting him. And without Thomas twisting his arm to do it. There was a soft thud from behind the door, like someone placing their palm on the wood. Roman sighed, “Sometimes, finding the strength to get out of bed in the morning can be just as courageous as fighting the Dragon Witch.” 

“You fight _actual_ dragons, though,” argued Virgil, still not believing what he was hearing. 

Roman made a strangled noise. “And so do you! Your dragons may be lurking inside, but that doesn’t make them any less real or ferocious, nor does it make you any less brave for fighting them. And I know you do. I’ve seen you do it.” 

How had they ended up talking about him, anyway? This was supposed to be about comforting Roman, or at least keeping him company, so why was the prince being so nice?

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.” Roman went quiet for a while after that. Virgil wished that he could encircle his arms around his legs, pull his knees to his chest and curl inward until nothing was left, but the tray got in the way, and he was too afraid of dropping the baked goods to set it down. He settled for digging his fingernails into the carpet. 

“Would…” Roman trailed off. Then he loudly cleared his throat and tried again, “Would you say that Thomas is a bad person, Virgil?”

Virgil twisted to stare at the door with a look of naked disbelief, “Where did that come from?” 

“Would you call him cruel or cowardly? Patently unkind in bearing, manner, or speech?”

Tired and irritable, Virgil snapped, “Obviously not.” 

“Then, if that’s so, how could any of _us_ be?” Following that, there came the scrape of fabric catching on wood, of something solid and heavy sliding to the ground. “That’s what I’d like to believe, anyway.” Now, Virgil could hear Roman’s voice coming from about his level, most of the prior confidence drained out of it. 

“Big words coming from someone thwarted by a doorknob,” he needled goodnaturedly, not particularly sure he liked this new melancholic version of Creativity. 

“From a certain perspective,” Roman huffed, “you’re locked behind this blasted door, and I’m the only person in the world who’s free. Chew on that, smart guy.” 

Unable to help himself, Virgil chuckled. “Boy, you sure got me there.” He glanced down at the tray, an idea sparking in his mind. “And speaking of chewing… this muffin’s pretty good. Patton's gotten the recipe down pat.” 

“Gasp,” Roman said aloud, while Virgil continued to stare at the untouched tray of pastries in his lap. “You started eating Patton’s muffins without me?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Fiend!”

Injecting playful cockiness into his words, something he’d become infinitely more familiar with since joining up with Patton and the others, Virgil challenged, “Well, what are you going to do about it, Princey?” Then sat back and waited for the show. 

“Why,” Roman sputtered, “I shall throw crimson garments in with your whites.”

“Savage,” Virgil replied like he meant it. He picked up the muffin he’d poked earlier, eyeing it with consideration. “But bold of you to think anything I own is white.”

“I’ll switch the sugar and the salt.” 

“Unfortunately, I take my coffee black. You’d have a better chance of getting Patton or Logan with that one.” This was taking longer than he’d thought it would, but the chances of Roman running out of ideas were slim, and if he were being honest, listening to Roman come up with a million terrible pranks wasn’t much of a chore. “Come on, I know you can do better.” 

“I’ll - I will replace all of your horror movies with episode collections of Steven Universe!” Virgil quirked a brow at that one, which Roman seemed to sense, because he quickly backpedaled. “Except that would be but a clever ruse.” The tension eased out of Virgil’s shoulders, though the serious manner in which Roman was speaking also put him on edge. “In truth, your films would be unharmed. For in this hypothetical jest, I would merely reprint the labels on your antiquated DVD’s.” He paused, his breath catching as though he weren’t sure whether it would be better to continue or not, before adding sincerely, “Destroying something you care for would not be very noble of me, after all.” 

Despite knowing Roman couldn’t see him, Virgil nodded. “Sounds like a pretty creative prank if you ask me…” A small, proud smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Try the door.” 

Indignant, Roman squawked, “What are talking about? I’ve tried it a million times. It’s not going to - ” The knob jangled back and forth, then there was a click, and the lock slid out of place. Carefully, as though the lock would change its mind, Roman gave the door a push and it swung open. He stepped outside, a look of pure wonder on his face. 

Then he glanced down at Virgil. “You didn't eat any of the muffins, did you?” Wearing a crooked grin, Virgil shook his head. Roman seemed to accept this. “You were just trying to distract me from coming up with ideas so I could come up with ideas.” After one last nod confirmed his suspicions, Roman held out his arms for the tray. 

“Gimme.”

And Virgil did so happily, though not before snatching the muffin he’d claimed for himself. Once that was settled, they headed down the hall towards the kitchen, where Logan and Patton were waiting with the morning newspaper and a puzzle respectively to have a late breakfast. 

Spotting them standing uncertainly in the entrance, Logan checked his watch. “You’re late,” he muttered, then stood to retrieve glasses while Patton happily retrieved the tray from Roman to stock up their plates. 

Four placemats. Four sets of silverware. 

From the beginning, they’d never lost faith that Roman would find his way out. Virgil nudged him with his elbow, a soft jab to the side, and Roman, who’d looked as though he was so touched he might cry, bowed. “Thank you,” he said softly, “for believing in me.” Then he glanced beside him, fixing Virgil with a grateful smile. “For believing in us.” 

Before Virgil could fully wrap his head around the implication of those words, before he could find a reason to doubt them, or question if he deserved them, Patton tackled them both, squeezing them so tightly it chased the thoughts away, and Virgil relaxed. He noticed Logan had apparently decided he’d waited long enough, since he’d already started plucking the blueberries off his muffin, and shared a look of quiet amusement with Roman. Once Patton was done suffocating them with happiness, they settled down for breakfast, and for the duration of the meal, Virgil found he couldn’t think of a single reason why he didn’t deserve to be there.


End file.
